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3 NIGHT WRITING Tonight again it spins its lines on the air suspends its triangle there from a camellia sasanqua to the white crape myrtle to a corner of the portico. Aloof from my wonder patiently swiftly it inscribes its radials then overlays circles, touching loosening trailing a shining between the lit house and riverward darkness. A dog barks from over the river. Wild or domestic? I don’t care. I like to hear sounds measure the distance. Among wide stirrings in trees the crystalline webbing flexes. Each line sways and stays shining its way toward a nexus each thought an instant’s design a pane inscribed on the wind. I drift in toward bedtime. These connections remind 4 me of sleep when filaments of likeness blow in by chance— houses adrift on darkness faces that loved me once. ...

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